


Just a Talk

by LeftHalfOfLancelot



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 12x09 Coda, Casual meeting, It's legit Sam/Mick if you squint, M/M, Nothing big, also Destiel if you squint, some sexual tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 09:40:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9485429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeftHalfOfLancelot/pseuds/LeftHalfOfLancelot
Summary: It's been exactly two weeks since escaping federal custody. The Winchesters have taken that time to recuperate, for once. After Lucifer, after the Government, after Billie, maybe it's time to lay low for awhile. That is, until Sam gets a call and a scheduled meet up by everyone's favorite Man of Letters: Mick Davies. They've been on amicable terms, for the most part, and denying that would just strain an already strenuous relationship. So, here Sam is, facing the man who's both helped and hurt him over the last few months, knowing fairly well how this would end.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is literally me squinting really hard and seeing some weird sexual tension that isn't actually there between two characters. In all reality, my mind probably went: Hot Guy + Hot Guy = Hot Stuff Ahahaha. But, yeah, I just kind of want to see how it works out on paper, so to speak. Get some practice on characterization and dialogue in there before I take any kind of huge leap into something.
> 
> It's unbeta'd and probably riddled with typos and spelling errors. ;3;

“I just wanted to talk.” Funny. Seeing as that was all this man seemed to be good for.

In a rundown diner, much like the dives and bars he and his brother ran through on the daily, Mick Davies sat across from him, hands templed with an amicable, professional smile on his lips, snug in his booth. Sam was torn between slapping it off and giving in, letting him talk.

Two weeks past since escaping, since the deal - since Billie died. For the Winchesters, it would have been a night of hardly any sleep and then off running. A case would open halfway across the country, Cas would have slipped out by then, and everything would slide on the backburner. Ever since Amara, God, Lucifer even, and then their mother, Dean hadn’t felt the urgency to dive head first into hunting. Perhaps his brother was done running. Or maybe he was just tired. Regardless, Sam appreciated the downtime. He felt refreshed, awake, and not constantly paranoid. Cas staid, perhaps to watch over them, linger closely to Dean’s side. And Mary, their mother, had her own time. Getting used to everything still came sluggish to her, but she tried and their relationship felt less strained by the minute.

However, everything eventually came to a head. The chill up his spine the minute his phone rang and the churning in his gut signified an impending doom. Their vacation ticked down, quicker and quicker. Mick Davies was just a start.

Sam shifted in his seat, with his eyes squinting. Suspicion shook his mind. “You gave me your pitch in the basement,” Sam said. Davies stirred, his eyes flickering somewhere behind him - a tick. Nerves?

“I’d said all I had to say,” he replied without once looking directly at Sam.

“Then we’re done here.” A statement, one Sam made a move on in order to goad the man. Mick took to the bait, reaching out a hand for just a second before placing them back, folded, pristine. His visage faltered only slightly and Sam relished in the moment. These British MoL acted so professionally, like every conversation was just another meeting to dole out business. It satisfied him to no end to see them shake, even for just a second.

Davies cleared his throat, shifted. “I simply wanted to know how you are. It’s been… awhile, since I last heard from you.”

“You wanted to know,” Sam gave pause, his brows edging closer to his nose, “how I am?”

The booth squeaked under Davies’ pressure. “I wanted to pick your brain for a moment. You Winchesters elude me,” he grumbled. His teeth ground and he finally met Sam’s eyes. “There are things you two have done that have ran me under more times than I’d like to admit.”

A hum broke Sam’s lips into a smug line. “Ah, I get it,” he said. Sam nodded, and Davies clenched his jaw. “All of it’s an act - a clever one - to make everyone think you know everything, down to the meticulous detail. It’s an intimidation tactic.”

No response came from Davies, but his eyes fell from Sam’s eyes to his lips then finally to Sam’s hands. “We know plenty.”

“About everything else.”

“Everything necessary to know.”

“Except for me, my brother, and my mom.”

“And your angel.”

“So,” Sam started, shaking his head for a moment and smacking his lips, “you came here, called me, and scheduled this meeting as what? A lunch date?” Davies reddened at that, averting his eyes. “You wanted to get to know me more after your botched torture experiment gathered absolutely nothing? Like after the first two times you helped, I owed you anything? A favor? My life story?” Sam fell back into the booth with a scoff, arching up to grab his wallet. The salad, his drink, and Davies’ orders all covered with a few bills - a tip, which he flung Davies way.

As he got up to stand, Davies stood, as well. Sam’s hand sprung up the moment Davies stepped into his space, crowding him despite his stature. For the second that Davies kept silent, his face edging closer to Sam’s own, Sam held his breath, didn’t dare to take even a small gasp.

“You and your brother hold yourself up so high on a pedestal.”

“Rich-” Sam backed up more, Davies pressing him against the hard wood of the booth.

“Get this straight, Sam: you Winchesters are merely characters in your own book, high on delusions. One of these days your hero complex is going to get you killed, for good. You’ll die as you lived, but perhaps you want that. However, before that happens, I intend to find out every last detail about you and your brother, down to your goddamn favorite 2000’s song and what I do with that info is entirely up to you. You make your case before that happens. Build it however you want, but it is entirely on your head whether I see you as my sworn enemy or my greatest ally. Or nothing. Nothing, at all.”

Davies pressed a hand on Sam’s chest, leaving it there, judging whether it would be a wise decision to push a man such as Sam Winchester. He cleared his throat once more, pocketed his hand and looked Sam square in the eyes, blown pupils and all. Sam swallowed heavy, watched as Davies nodded and stepped back. “I apologize for how,” Davies paused, as if the next few words soured his mouth at just the thought, “unprofessional that was. But, after our hasty meetings over the last few months, I imagine that’s simply what you Winchesters do. Push buttons until someone pops.”

“Mostly my brother,” Sam piped up, doing everything in his power to look at anything else in the room. They fell on the waitress creeping up on them, wary, sensing the tension between him and the man before him.

“S-sorry, I just… um…” she started, looking between the two.

Davies spoke up first, sidling next to Sam in an instant. “Sorry for the commotion. We just haven’t seen each other in so long. We get a bit carried away,” Davies clasped their hands together, holding it up for the girl to see, “long distance relationships are killer.” She seemed to get the hint, blushing and smiling as she excused herself. Davies took that opportunity to lead Sam out and toward the Impala.

“You find yourself in trouble, Winchester, don’t forget I’m just a call away,” Davies told him with a toothy grin for good measure. It was somehow more genuine than the one he’d been given prior to their discussion. Sam didn’t bother with a response, however, simply waved while Davies disappeared around the diner’s corner.

He breathed in, a fresh, heavy breath for the first time and then slowly let it out. The drive back to Lawrence was filled with more questions than he’d asked for, turning the loud pounding of now deceased Vince Vincente into background noise. And when he’d arrived, Dean only spared him a confused eyebrow and an already opened beer. Didn’t ask further after seeing the drained expression Sam gave him.

Before that night ended, Sam scrolled through his phone, stopping only to stare at Davies emergency contact for a good hour. If Dean questioned him the next time he found his speed dials, Sam would do the Winchester thing. Or, well, Dean’s thing - brush it off, project a little, get snippy. Whatever worked. Until then, they didn’t exactly have any other back up plan aside from Crowley and his mother. Comparing the two options, Sam would rather have the Brits on speed dial than the King of Hell.

Guess Dean would have to pitch a fit later.


End file.
